


Waylon was Always Beautiful

by elJimmeister



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Canon Pairing, Cisgendered crossdresser, Consensual Kink, Crack, F/M, Feminization, Fetish, Fetish Clothing, Heterosexual Pairing, Lingerie, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, consensual feminization, man in lingerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:38:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elJimmeister/pseuds/elJimmeister
Summary: Lisa Park has a fetish for men in women's clothes, specifically lingerie, and ever since that incident of her husband's with Eddie Gluskin at Mount Massive, her marriage has never been the same again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Plot Bunny that just came to me. XD
> 
> Jimmy's Note: Well... It's been a while since I have submitted anything, or made any appearances online at all. Life kinda took over, and, well... I found myself in some new fandoms, namely Outlast and Fallout. I kinda decided that I'd rather spend my free time playing video games than being on DeviantArt, fanfiction.net, or AO3.
> 
> So, yeah. This is a one-shot Outlast crackfic of sorts I came up with. I was inspired, like many writers in this fandom, by Eddie Gluskin, who has got to be one of the most fucked-up video game antagonists of all time. Like, seriously. I literally cringed at that scene when Waylon was on that table. He's not really gonna show up in this fic, though.
> 
> And without further ado, the story.

It had been a month since I had escaped the horrors of Mount Massive Asylum. My physical wounds have mostly healed save for a few inevitable scars, such as the long, unsightly gash on my right foot where a splinter had once been when I plummeted through an elevator shaft in an attempt to escape-

" _Darling_..."

A familiar voice called out to me, deep, sinister, and bloodcurdling, yet cloyingly sweet. I found myself snapped back to reality. And in _this_ reality, I wasn't in a legitimate therapy facility where there were guys who were truly there to help me. Rather, I was naked, tied up, and lying down on a crude, rough, wooden table with splinters that dug into my back. The place smelled of piss, shit, and blood. It reeked of insanity, decay, and despair. The only light source in the room, which emitted an uncomfortable glare straight into my half-lidded eyes, was partially blocked by an imposing figure that slowly drew itself closer to me, its hands moving all over my body in a desecrating, offending caress.

 _"You have amazing bone structure..."_ the sinister figure drawled as it groped my legs, its filthy hands clad in fingerless leather gloves inching towards my crotch. _"You will be beautiful..."_

_This can't be..._

_"...just a few snips of the flesh here, and here..."_ Its hands then pointed at my chest, left and right.

_"...cut away everything vulgar..."_

_No... No..._

"Hey."

I heard a disembodied voice which, certainly, was different from that sinister one.

I trembled. And then I found myself cowering on a cool, gold-colored marble floor. I opened my eyes again and saw that I was in a well-lit, cozy waiting lounge that smelled of fresh flowers. The disembodied voice belonged to Julian, the independent journalist from VIRALeaks who is also the one in charge of my therapy. He was right in front of me, but I grabbed his arms just to be sure if he was real. Sometimes, I'm not even sure if my eyes are even real, and therefore, if mirrors are. I'm not sure anymore if the faint reflection of our silhouettes cast by the light on the marble cladding on the wall is real, or even if the wall is real. Or anything I see around me.

"Relax. You're here now. You're safe with us," Julian reassured me. "He's dead. You're in Nevada, not Colorado. You're here in the lounge area of the VIRALeaks witness protection department's therapy facility because you're waiting for your family. They came to visit you. I know how much you want this, Mr. Braddock." He addressed me by my false name, which could take me a while to get used to.

"R-right," I replied. "Sorry about that-"

"No need to apologize, Nicholas," Julian continued to reassure me. For quite some time now, I have been living in this top secret facility, undergoing therapy through the help of a witness protection team who would soon help me disappear and start a new life as Nicholas Braddock. I have become a fugitive the very moment Jeremy Blaire found out about the e-mail I have sent Miles Upshur, a tenacious independent journalist who would stop at nothing just to get into the depths of a story.

So far, I have not yet uploaded the footage of my ordeal to ViraLeaks. I have not done so, because I have been told that the very moment I upload the clips, my family, everyone else I care about, would be fucked. To Murkoff, they were just more ways to hurt me. Since it had been a month after all, perhaps they're already back on track, going on with their immoral, gruesome experiments as usual even after the riot that sparked a bloody tragedy.

"However, because you are already a fugitive even though you have not yet uploaded the video, you are only allowed exactly 24 hours to be with your family, and you may not leave the facility. Should you choose to spend time outdoors, there's always the park in the courtyard," Julian broke to me the sobering reality without sugarcoating it. "And after that, it's goodbye to your old life as Waylon Park. Forever. You must understand. It's for your own safety, as well as theirs. We have also placed them under our witness protection program in another facility similar to this one. Just like you, they are also undergoing therapy to prepare them to live completely new identities. As I have told you before, insofar as the law is concerned, your marriage to Lisa, who would no longer be known as that soon, has already been terminated. I've also told you that your family has been told that you have passed away. But since you really wanted this, since you have determined that you would upload the video only after you see them again, we have told them that we were mistaken in our reports of your demise, and that they were greatly exaggerated. Nevertheless, on that very moment you have made your decision to be a whistleblower when you e-mailed Mr. Upshur about Murkoff's immorality, you have already decided, as well, that you are willing to risk losing everything in the name of justice."

"I understand," I replied. For all this time, I have asked, no, _begged_ , Julian to allow me to at least see them one last time before I upload the video. I have already made my decision that I will upload the video, but only after I meet my family one last time and make sure that they are safe. I would not allow myself to irrevocably break now after all of the things I have seen and survived. If I lose my grip now, my efforts would have been for nothing, rendered as merely a shaggy dog plot.

"You are a very brave man, Nicholas," Julian said. "A man, indeed. Human. You bleed, you cry, sometimes you break, just as you have merely moments ago. Those things you have witnessed have been too much for any human to go through without irrevocably altering them in some fucked-up way. But just know that I will be here for you. _We_ will be here for you."

* * *

I anxiously waited as I heard some footsteps approaching. These footsteps were not like any I have heard in a while, but they were familiar to me. The footsteps belonged to more than one person; I could tell. I could distinctly hear the crisp clack of a pair of high heels on the marble floor, and the soft pitter-patter of two pairs of feet.

"Honey..." I heard Lisa's voice call out to me. "You... You're... You really are alive..." I felt a warm embrace around me. The two boys were much too young to fully comprehend the full story of what was going on, but they joined in the group embrace. I have not felt this kind of warmth in a while, and I felt a single teardrop move along the junction between my neck and left shoulder in which Lisa buried her face.

"It's good to see you alive, dad," Butch, my firstborn son, said as he let go. "The scary, big men told us you were... _dead_." I wasn't really sure how to explain to them that these moments would be the last that we'd spend together for the rest of their lives, which they would also have to spend in hiding.

"Papa..." Johnny, my second son, called to me.

"Come on," I then told them. "Let's go spend some time in the park outside. Just like the good old days. Let me just get the picnic gear."

* * *

Soon enough, the two boys wanted to be back inside when the sun started to set. Those moments spent outdoors with my family reminded me of simpler times, of days when I never knew that I would experience a special kind of hell on earth in my lifetime. Although there were things I have experienced back in the asylum that had altered me irreversibly, my love for Lisa and my boys were not in the least bit diluted by the foul waters of hatred and insanity. If anything, not being able to contact them due to Murkoff protocols only made me yearn for them more.

"Yes, it's time to head back inside. Let's go to the housing unit I'm assigned to," I agreed.

The housing unit that the facility provided me was a simple one-bedroom apartment-type suite, with a small living area that already included the dining area and a kitchenette. Just across was the bedroom, and narrow hallway adjoining the two spaces. The bathroom, along with a walk-in closet, was to the left of the hallway as I faced the bedroom. There was but one full-height pane of glass on each of the two spaces. They served as imaginary windows, providing a 'view' of the New York cityscape through a stock photo of the iconic skyline embedded on the wall behind the glass. The 'view' even had the Shutterstock watermark on it. Butch and Johnny immediately took to the large flat screen television in the living room, and I switched it on for them. I even let them play on the game console, reminding them, of course, to share, play fair, and take turns just as a father should do. I even made them a pillow fort, same way as I did when I was a young boy myself. The two boys did have their fair share of vitriol that was normal to brothers, but overall, it seems that Lisa has become successful in keeping them amicable to each other while I was away.

"Well... This is quite different from what we're used to..." Lisa observed, walking through the hallway towards the bedroom. I followed her and closed the door behind me.

"I had been told we were assigned spaces that were much unlike the places we used to live in, in order to prepare us for re-integration back into society through our new identities," I explained. "What type of setting were you three assigned to, anyway?" I then asked.

"Something like this one," Lisa replied as she took off her trench coat, revealing a short, purple silk dress underneath it. "But our 'view' was that of the Seattle skyline. Soon, I would have to take on the persona of Marla Lily Sutherland, a single mother who is very obsessed with vampire romance novels. She'd also be one of the many blonde, sexy secretaries for some snooty guy who calls himself Christian Grey. The boys would be renamed Edward and Jacob. Johnny would be Edward, and Butch would be Jacob. The protection program guys have already prepared our false papers, and we'd be reintegrating back into society soon. I just need to learn how to smile all the time and how to act like a bimbo. I'd also have to undergo all kinds of plastic surgery before the protection program folks let me go. All expenses are on them, which kinda gets me wondering where they even get the money to fund all this stuff they do for us."

I was taken aback by her revelation. I could not even begin to imagine my brilliant, intelligent, _brunette_ wife as a dense, blonde secretary with a Stepford Smile. Sexy she is indeed, but I never saw her as _that_ kind of sexy that was pretty much a fixture in a pornographic cliché; that type with a fake tan, fake nails, fake breasts, fake butt, fake everything. And that natural, innocent, and pure beauty of hers, laced with a sharp wit, was pretty much one of the various reasons why I was drawn to her, reasons as many as the moral lines that Murkoff had crossed.

"...and that would mean that I'll never see you again," Lisa continued. She buried her face against my chest as she started to cry. "Honestly, I'm not so sure if it's even worth it to go on, if it means I'll have to be a person I'd hate to become just to stay alive. But... For our boys... I must. I must endure. Smile... Through all the pain. I just want to be with you for one last time..."

"Same here, Lisa. Same here. But we're here now. Together again, even just for this while," I replied. "I'm not yet too sure who I would be, but I already have a false name: Nicholas Braddock. But all throughout the time I had been here, I was sure that I wanted to see you again. Julian, the guy who was mostly in charge of taking care of me, was reluctant at first to allow us to be together again like this, but he eventually gave in. He allowed us to be together again like this, but only for a day. After this..."

"We only have 12 hours left, though... a little over 11 now," Lisa replied.

I ran my hands through her soft, wavy dark brown hair that looked black in some angles, and massaged her scalp in an attempt to soothe her. Tenderly, I stroked the sides of her face as I pulled her closer to me. I felt a certain heat pool inside of me, a kind of heat I hadn't felt in a long time, as I ran my hands through her smooth, pale skin. Up and down the curve of her back, in soft, gentle motions. I appreciated the texture of the silk dress she wore, but I appreciated her bare skin more.

"...may I?" I asked her for permission as I breathed against the expanse of fair skin on her bare neck. I allowed my nose some time to process and appreciate her mild, pleasant scent, which I have not smelled in a while. She responded by initiating a kiss and aggressively grabbing my collar, snapping a few buttons off of my light yellow-green dress shirt and revealing part of my chest that had become hairy from a lack of time to shave. She ran her tongue through my bottom lip, and I promptly opened my mouth to let her in. But she suddenly became reluctant and shaky, and we didn't go to the next part where our tongues would battle for heated dominance inside of my mouth.

"Honey, you seem a bit too reluctant to carry on with this," I said. "Time limit or not, it's best for you not to force this kind of thing on yourself. You know, we could always just cuddle in bed or something..."

"No. I really want this," Lisa insisted. There was a moment of pause, and we just looked at each other, until-

"Wait here a while," I said with an eager smirk as I walked to the closet.

As soon as I stepped inside, I looked through some articles of clothing for the custom-made black, pink-frilled lingerie with matching hot pink ripped fishnet stockings I had specifically requested from the witness protection team. I had told them that I was considering taking on the identity of a flamboyant transvestite who works as a custom-made lingerie and stripper costumes tailor for a sex shop.

It somehow pained me to tell them that, because my new persona would remind me of those bloodied, crudely-sewn dresses in the vocational area, of those rusty, ancient sewing machines that seemed to move on their own, of a sign that my sanity was already starting to slip away. But then again, working at a sex shop as a flamboyant transvestite tailor was pretty much the most unladylike job one could think about- the _opposite_ of what a misogynist, ax-crazy asshole stuck in the fifties would have wanted of his chained-to-the-stove, subservient 'wife.' ...Maybe I would actually be _doing_ that after all, and I really don't think those bastards at Murkoff would think to look for me in some obscure sex shop that most people would be too embarrassed to step foot in anyway. Besides, that short pain of shame meant nothing anymore. Not after all the shit I had been through and all the punishment my body and mind had endured.

But really; I was planning this all along for an entirely different reason. I had asked, no, _begged_ Julian for quite some time that I be allowed to see my family and be with my wife again, even for one last time. The thing is, Lisa's always had a thing for men in lingerie and thigh-high stockings, and when I had first learned of this fetish of hers when I had been a year into a relationship with her, I shied away for a bit. I was a bit on the pudgy side back then, and I really didn't think I would look good in lingerie. I thought that if she ever saw _me_ wearing such an outfit that was meant to evoke sex appeal, she'd probably never be able to get herself wet _ever_ again even if it was the most attractive guy in the world, or perhaps Ben Bruce, that 'post-hardcore rock star dude' she fangirls over, wearing a well-fitting corset, thigh-high stockings, and lace panties that accentuated all his flattering angles and bulges... even if said attractive guy or post-hardcore rock star dude would be wearing that _and_ sensually gyrating his well-built, scantily-clad body against her while smooth jazz played in the background and they were in a mood-lit, rose-scented suite in some posh hotel in Paris. As an aside, I'm more of a classic rock, prog, and metal guy, stuff like Queen, Metallica's older albums, Dream Theater, and Led Zeppelin. I also headbang occasionally to some death metal like Cannibal Corpse and relax to some oldies such as The Ink Spots, but after _that_ experience, I think I'm swearing off those two music genres for a while. _Especially_ the song Forced Gender Reassignment by Cattle Decapitation and _pretty much_ any barbershop quartet.

Admittedly, I was quite surprised to discover that underneath that innocent smile and that sweet face was a dangerously debauched, kinky side to her, which only served to turn me on even more. I was even _more_ surprised than that, just when I thought I'd already been surprised to the brim about her dirty little secret, when she gave me my first set of lingerie as a Valentine's Day gift several years ago- just a year before we were graduating, to be specific. It was a soft, cream-colored corset with gold lace floral embroidery lovingly detailed on the decadent fabric, with matching sheer panties and thigh-high stockings. It was custom-tailored to fit me - to hug my pudgy figure. And that was when I realized that she really did truly love me, warts and all, that she really did consider me to be her _darling_ even when her cousin Blake Langermann is friends with lots of better-looking, fitter frat guys (who obviously look better in lingerie than I do) whom she could have hooked up with instead, _and_ even when her friend Lynn (who later became Blake's wife) had connections to some of the guys associated with the Warped Tour management.

I still decided to hit the gym and learn parkour afterwards for myself, if not to please her. To be honest, it wasn't much of a surprise that she liked me better the way I have become after some ways alone in the park, a lot of days spent jogging on its meandering trails and jumping over obstacles such as vacant benches in the break of dawn. I eventually got used to tying corsets in well under three minutes, and while that white-gold, or black-blue in some angles and light levels, corset isn't in my size anymore, that one still held a special place in my heart after all these years. I still kept it in our family home's walk-in closet. It was a reminder for me to always keep in mind that Lisa truly loves me for who I am.

I wanted to re-ignite the passion which I had lost ever since that fucked-up motherfucker Eddie Gluskin wanted to 'marry' me in the haze of his delusions of a vile, hellish mockery of the union of a husband and a wife, or simply the union of lovers. Although I have never prayed a single day in my life, not even during those desperate moments when I found myself trembling inside a rusty, smelly locker back in the squalid asylum of horrors as I watched those poor men spend their last, bloody, emasculating moments in the infected, filthy hands of a psychotic, complete monster, I understood that love is something, for lack of a better word, _sacred_.

I took off my current clothes and put on the black corset, the matching lace panties, and the pink, ripped fishnet stockings. I then looked at myself in the full-length mirror and noticed something that didn't feel quite right.

... _Oh_.

I haven't shaved in what seems to be a long time. I took off the lingerie again and reached for the razor and shaving cream.

_"Smooth. Just like a little girl again..."_

I heard his voice again.

_No. Stop._

My hands trembled as the razor blade touched my right leg in an attempt of mine to start shaving the thick, light brown body hair that had grown on me after some time. I shook my head in disapproval, attempting to get those memories off my mind.

_"You are ugly, and have given up on love..."_

_I'm doing this for her. Not you. And the very reason I am doing this is precisely because I have_ not _given up on love._

_"Smooth..."_

That voice drawled again.

 _Stop_.

_"The smell of my love's arbor..."_

_No. The only thing I smell from you is bullshit._

I continued to shave until I was smooth, and I put the lingerie back on. I was pleased with myself this time, knowing that I have just overcome the terror of those moments at least for now. I knew I was doing this for my _real_ wife. I love her, and so I will do _anything_ for her. Besides, this day would be the last we'd ever spend together.

My Lisa. Her Waylon. Even if our names and outside personas would change, even if she'd be known as Marla the ditzy blonde secretary and single mother who named her sons after characters of some vampire romance novel she's _obsessed_ with, and I as Nicholas the flamboyant sex shop tailor in New York, deep in our hearts, in our minds, we're still the Park family.

Tomorrow, I'd be uploading everything. Murkoff's depravity would finally be brought to light. But today, I'd be spending time with my beloved to let her know, let her _feel_ , that I'm alive, I'm well, and I still look _damn fine_ in lingerie, even more so when the heat pools down to my loins whenever I see her wearing that genuine, blissful smile that perfectly matches her birthday suit.

I finally went back to the room where Lisa, _my real darling_ , waited for me.

* * *

I woke up, cuddled next to her after a good eight hours of sleep without any nightmares. Although we only had this last hour left- we had indeed been going at it for a good _three_ hours the night before; every second that ticked away was a drop of liquid gold. Precious, cherished. But these drops of liquid gold were leaking into the ocean where they would quickly sink to the bottom, all the way to the abyssal level where the blobfish dwelled, never to be found again.

These despairing thoughts of the reality that would soon ensue mixed with the soothing sight of Lisa sleeping, smiling, seeming at peace with herself despite everything. There was yet another apparent juxtaposition of things, of her serene form mixed with my disheveled, debauched form I glimpsed from a reflection on a nearby mirror. The straps of my corset have been mostly untied, exposing my nipples. The panties were nowhere to be found; it more likely ended up under the bed. The fishnet stockings were still on my legs, and they had become more ripped to shreds than they already were. My light brown hair was a complete mess, and my collarbones and both sides of my neck were littered with hickeys. The sweet taste of her still lingered inside my mouth.

"Darling... Only an hour left?" Lisa finally woke up, just a few minutes after me. I was still looking at my reflection, closely examining the purple marks of love she had left on my body, and right then, she went on to hug me from behind, tipping her toes in order to be able to nestle her head in a junction of my hickey-filled neck. She sucked on the bruised skin some more, and she ran her hands through my body, feeling where the soft fabric of the dark-colored lingerie ended, and where smooth skin began.

"Honey... Might wanna check up on the kids first. We need to get dressed-"

"This will be the last time... Might as well enjoy the show," Lisa drawled with a smirk as I continued to watch my reflection being pleasured by the image of my one true darling. I was certain, this time, that this was real. This mirror is real; my eyes are real. _Lisa_ is the one who had made me real, reminded me that I'm human, and in her words, beautifully so. And even more when I wear lingerie just for her, no matter what my body type had been.

"Do you mind if I ask you something, though?" Lisa mouthed against my skin.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Well, since I have told you who I'll become after this, have you thought about your new persona? Who will Nicholas be?"

"He... He will be a tailor," I replied. "A tailor who will work for a sex shop."

Lisa let out a sultry laugh, continuing to kiss me. "...wow," was all she could say. "Really."

"Well, I just thought that if I take on a persona so ridiculous and absurd... Maybe those bastards at Murkoff wouldn't think to look for some kook who works at a shop that most people would be too embarrassed to enter anyway."

"Intelligent _and_ funny- definitely the man, _the Adonis_ , I knew, fell in love with, and married..."

* * *

The inevitable had already happened. I've already said my last goodbyes to Lisa and my sons. As a parting gift, I gave her a box filled with the notes I wrote back in the asylum. I looked at them for the longest time, as though I'm forming detailed mental contour maps of their features in my head, because that would be the last time I'd ever see them the way they are now. Their names, looks, everything... They will practically be gone off the face of the earth. Just like I soon will be. The video had also been uploaded, and predictably, it had become meme material, making its rounds through Reddit, Tumblr, and even Facebook. It also ended up on Rotten, BestGore, the Encyclopedia Dramatica's 'Offended' series, and all those other sketchy shock sites. Some guy even made a _fucking parody song_ about my and [mostly] Miles's ordeal based on a song by Chris Brown and Sean Kingston.

 _'Cause this fucking place is creep_ _creep creepy, creep creep creepy, creep creep creepy, fucking naked people!_

Great. Now it's stuck in my head. Needless to say, that video, and not the derriere of some dense reality star, _broke the internet._

Anyway, after about another month staying in the facility to complete my post-traumatic therapy, I departed for New York and set up Braddock Boudoir, my little shop of pleasures, in a series of shops on the ground floor of a classic art-deco style medium-rise building, between the Dapper Dudes Desserts and Knoth Footwear. I have had many customers since, most of them very open about their fetishes and kinks. Obviously, and as expected, most of them came in my shop with bags of sweets and baking supplies from next door and/or a pair of high heels from the other next door.

As it turns out, this isn't actually so bad. Unexpected and ridiculous, but I actually enjoy this. Sure, I didn't study hard, forgo the wild frat parties, and graduate cum laude at Berkeley just to end up with a job like this. I used to work as a software consultant for companies such as Macrohard, Blue Drums Gaming, SquickNix, and Maryland Softworks, but this... But hey- Waylon Park the techno geek is no more. I'm Nicholas Braddock now. I still love Lisa, or at least the person she was, to this day; sometimes I still pine for her, but sometimes, I'm not sure anymore if she still returns the feelings.

Nevertheless, I had become more open and less prejudiced, or rather, desensitized; I have already seen and heard it all anyway. My hands have attained such finesse that I could make up to three highly-detailed corsets per day, and I have grown accustomed to wearing purple instead of my former trademark yellow hues. And sometimes, cosplayers would come here to commission me to make costumes for them, so my portfolio as a tailor is not all sexwear either.

I soon got an assistant to help me out with my shop. Although he's missing a finger on each of his hands, that didn't stop him from anything. He's said of them that at least, he's still got _those_ fingers. He was sickly pale, almost like a corpse. His black hair was almost always a mess, sometimes moving on its own even when the room wasn't windy. But certainly, I could see something special about this guy who calls himself Asher Lafayette.

* * *

Today was just another day at work- business as usual. Asher was just fixing the display items on some shelves, and I was about to sew a sailor costume and a Sailor Moon costume for a couple with a more nautical naughty inclination, when I was interrupted by a call while I was measuring the sizes of royal blue fabric to line the uniforms.

"Braddock Boudoir," I answered the phone. "How can I help you?"

"I've heard... _good things_ about your shop," a female voice spoke back. Something in her voice felt familiar, but I shrugged it off. Many women have a similar voice anyway, so there's that.

"Why, thank you," I replied.

"Of course. Anyway, I'd like to have a special corset made for me. One in a pixelated pattern that comes in fifty shades of grey. My boss likes it," she continued. I was too dumbfounded to even speak. That voice...

"Uh... Hello? Are you okay?" she continued.

"Oh... Yeah. Right... What was that again?" I replied nervously. The more I heard her voice, the more familiar she sounded to me. Even the subtle inflections and intonations I found to be unique to her were those I knew all too well.

"A corset for me in a pixelated pattern colored in fifty shades of grey," she specified.

"That's... Uh... Rather specific, I dare say," I replied, doing my best to stay calm. There really was something about her voice... "Now, if I can just have your name and contact details so that we can set an appointment. You know, get your measurements and stuff so that I can make it for you."

"The name's Marla. Marla Lily Sutherland."

**Author's Note:**

> Jimmy's Note: ...sorry. I can't write good smut to save my life. This is also the first fic I wrote in a while to get myself back on track with writing Set Me Free, my main project/original fic, so I guess my skills have rusted considerably.
> 
> The parody song is real. There's a YouTube video somewhere of how to make Outlast not scary. The song plays on the latter half of the video.
> 
> Anyway, the first person to point out every (intentional) fandom and product placement reference and shoutout in this story wins a free art/fic request from me.


End file.
